Heartwood (9 page)

Molly was reluctant to have a big wedding in the first place but I’d persuaded her when I suggested one of the event centers at The Salt Lick. It was our place, the site of our first date and many more since. She’d burst into tears and told me I was the most romantic man in the world. We had decided to have both the wedding and the party at their Pecan Grove location, since it was less stuffy than the mansion across the vineyards. The thought of eating their barbecue and drinking Shiner in her wedding gown always made her smile.

When dad started in about moving the party, the look Molly’d shot me told me that I needed to handle the situation or she would. As amusing as it would be to watch Molly verbally dismantle my father, it was my place to do it and I snuffed his plan out immediately. This party was a celebration of our love, not for some bullshit social agenda of dad’s. When I told them we’d have to graciously decline their offer if it came with any strings, mom shot him a deadly glare and he’d backpedaled in a hurry. To soften the blow, Molly made the small concession of giving them twenty invitations to do with as they pleased.

My dad and I had been through the ringer in the past few years, and though the birth of the twins had us on speaking terms, I wouldn’t say we were really on friendly terms. Though dad had attempted an apology, we hadn’t managed to recover from our epic fall out. He’d kicked me out two weeks before high school graduation. I’d told him I wasn’t going to Rice University as expected. I wanted to apprentice as a carpenter and had no intention of attending law school. I’d wanted to tell him for months, and finally mustered the courage. In response, he told me I was wasting my potential and would never have a dime to my name. Then he told me to get off of his property.

It still burned me to think about that night. He sent me packing with what I could fit into a backpack and two gym bags. I’m sure he thought it would knock some sense into me and I’d come crawling back like a good little WASP. But I was a chip off the old block, and I was twice as stubborn as he had ever been.

I slept in my car for a couple of nights before Mason noticed me in the donut shop parking lot across the street from the school. I had no choice but to level with him about what had happened.

“Dude. That’s messed up. You’re coming home with me tonight,” he’d insisted.

“N...no...” I stammered. I’d never been so grateful and embarrassed in my life.

“Don’t fucking argue with me, Joe,” he’d demanded. The truth is, I didn’t want to argue. As tough as I thought I was, I’d never been on my own and it had been utterly terrifying.

Molly’s family welcomed me with open arms when I’d been a lost, scared eighteen year old. Neither Betty nor Chet pressed me for details, they just welcomed me in and told Molly to set an extra plate at the table.

I wasn’t there long. The twins were ready to move out. Mac and Mason already had jobs lined up on a construction crew. Unlike me, the Hildebrandt twins had known with certainty what they wanted to do for a living since junior high. Mac said he’d talk to their boss about getting me on the crew. The two of them even had a place lined up to rent, after jonesing for a party pad our entire senior year. A friend of their dads was willing to rent them a house. It was a ramshackled shanty, but he gave them a great deal as long as they fixed some things up for him and didn’t cause trouble. It just so happened they had an extra room for me.

“Joe. You okay, baby? Too much sun?” Molly’s voice pulled me out of my memories and back to the situation at hand. I realized she was watching me pensively. She knew when it came to my mom and dad I could get a little unpredictable. I took a moment and tried to manage my own expectations. While I understood it was customary for parents to show support like turning up for the event I’d organized, I figured mom was just here to hold the babies, and my father was here to get his face in the paper. I had no issue with their motivations, but I was in the middle of something and didn’t have time for the awkward meet and greet.

“I’ll talk to them after. What was the deal with Stacy and Sanchez?” I asked, ready to hop off the topic of my odd relationship with my parents.

“Oh.” Molly swallowed a drink of her water hurriedly. “Well...Sanchez was offered the head chef position in New Orleans.”

I made a sweep at the wood with the instrument. “Again?”

She frowned. “Yes. Only this time Stacy’s pushing him to take it.”

“What?” I stopped and sat my tool on the table, taking off my gloves and my protective eye gear. Her tone of voice told me there was a possibility that it could happen.

“They’re ready for the next step, Joe. Sanch doesn’t want to move away, but Stacy’s ready to start a family and Emmanuel’s offering him a huge salary. I made them a counter offer, but I just think Sanchez needs something more. He’s in the same place I am with Wrapgasmic. He’s mastered it and it runs itself. He’s ready for a change. Stacy too.” Molly’s conflicted eyes drifted to the side as if she were imagining life without her original team. “They’ve been fighting about it for about a month.”

“Babe, why didn’t you tell me?” I took a step closer to her, bumping my legs against the table that stood between us.

“No sense in us both worrying about it.” She pursed her lips and drew them to the side, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Actually, yes there is.” I reached across the table and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “I’m about to be your husband. I’m supposed to ease your burdens. I can’t do that if you won’t share them with me.”

“I know.” She leaned forward and brushed her lips over mine. “I just figured we’d cross that bridge when we got to it.”

“Hey! Break it up, Short shit!” Mac barked from the judges’ platform. “Quit distracting Joe. He’s only got two and a half hours left and he’s trying to represent.”

Just as they announced ten minutes left on the clock, I put my tool down and removed my gloves. I walked around the table critically, looking for any imbalance or imperfections. I’d carved a full sized end table out of a solid hunk of wood. It wasn’t ornate, more of a classic style, but I didn’t notice any flaws. I brushed my hand across the table top, feeling for any jagged edges. I sanded the top one more time to be sure. It was a crying shame that I didn’t have time to stain it.

After the alarm sounded, I walked hand in hand with Molly to inspect everyone’s creations. Some were simple, well executed carvings like mine. Some were elaborate large builds. Considering each builder had four hours to create whatever they chose, it was a pretty varied collection of creations, but everything was impressive. Some of the coolest stuff there was made by guys apprenticing with Mac and I at Good Wood, and I made a mental note to use a couple of them for more involved projects in the future. If they did that level of craftsmanship regularly, we’d be foolish not to hire them on full-time after their apprenticeships ended.

Graham and the other judges announced the winner, and I wasn’t surprised when I heard it was one of ours, Dylan. He won a complete tool set, a five hundred dollar gift card, and bragging rights. He was a really polite kid who rarely said two words to anyone. Mac and I exchanged a glance, and I knew we were thinking the same thing. The kid would have a job offer from us by the end of the day.

“Let’s get some lunch.” Molly pulled me toward her food truck. Most of the crowd was already eating, so we waltzed right up to the truck and Molly climbed aboard. My parents hovered nearby holding the twins in the shade. Mom was stuffing her face with Molly’s “Cheeseburgler Wrap” and Dad had nearly polished off one of her oversized lemon truffles, which Molly had lovingly named The Sour Puss.

“Molly, everything’s delicious!” My mother said, as she bounced Eva on her knee.

“Why, thank you.” Molly called out the window with a grin, and she proceeded to whip something together for us. Minutes later she was pushing a Sunday Brunch Wrap and a Mint Brownie in front of me.

“You’ve been working hard today. I assumed meat and potatoes were in order.”

“Whoa.” I snatched it up greedily and dug in.

“I’m so amazed by your gift, son.” My mother shifted Eva to her opposite shoulder so she could kiss my cheek.

“Thanks, mom.” I mumbled, trying to chew the oversized bite I’d taken. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I was up close and personal with Molly’s cooking.

“Joe’s an artisan.” Molly agreed, taking a seat next to me. “Every time he makes something new I’m more amazed by him.”

“You’re both incredibly gifted. Really.” My father said as he polished off the last of Molly’s cooking. “And we’re thrilled to have you officially joining our family, Molly.”

Molly smiled her sweet, genuine smile, but his subtext wasn’t lost on me. I heard his message loud and clear.

It’s about time my son did right by you, since he knocked you up and all.

I’d suddenly lost my appetite, and I tossed my wrap back in the basket.

“We’re very proud of you, Joseph. I’m thrilled to see you serving your community on this scale, but why the homeless shelter?” Dad asked, his eyes settling on mine. Obviously, he felt I could have found a more deserving cause.

I bit back my knee-jerk answer.

Because I can relate. I know what it’s like to be tossed out on the street.

I took a deep breath and cleared my throat, trying to think of something a bit less volatile than digging up the bones of the past.

“Why not?” I replied. “I’m in construction and I know a lot of tradesmen. No one needs builders and contractors more than the homeless do.”

I felt Molly’s hand on me knee. She gave it a gentle squeeze, and I felt my heart rate slowed in response.

“You have your father’s work ethic, Joe. His retirement didn’t last long once we came back to Austin.” Mom drawled, wiping Eva’s mouth with a spit cloth.

“I hadn’t heard you went back to work. Where are you working?” Molly asked, and I have to admit my curiosity got the better of me. I turned and saw a cryptic mask bloom on his face.

“Consulting. With a private contractor.” He wasn’t exactly curt, but Molly was intuitive, and took the hint that the conversation was over.

“Now, Molly. Tell me all about your gown. The suspense is killing me.” My mother gushed, then put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, should we step away so Joe won’t hear?”

Molly gave me an amused side glance and waved a dismissive hand. “No need. It’s all Greek to Joe.”

Mom’s non sequitur was anything but. This was a perfect example of my mother’s special gift. She intuitively swooped in and changed the subject when things were on the verge of escalating. And her tried and true strategy worked like a charm. Molly began to talk about antique lace and the entire conversation digressed into a discussion about centerpieces and song selections. Some folks may have viewed Felicia Jensen as just a politician’s wife, but mom was always twice the diplomat my father was.